Best Laid Plans
by HarleyD
Summary: The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Michael is learning this the hard way as he faces the consequences of failure. Slash, NC SucreMichael


Title: The Best Laid Plans

Rating: R for language and talk of N/C

Summary: The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Michael is learning this the hard way. In the show Sucre was really underrepresented as a criminal, and I think that had to come out. Not to mention that I have yet to completely discount part of Michael's plan actually being that he doesn't escape but his brother does.

Pairing : Sucre/Michael

Disclaimer: None of them are mine. Not a one. Sad, isn't it?

* * *

Linc had escaped. That was all that really mattered. The old man, he had made it too. Only Sucre, himself and T-bag had been in view when the snipers finally caught on to what was happening. The first shot was a warning and when he didn't go down another shot skimmed his arm. The horizon was too far and Michael knew he wouldn't make it, so he dropped to his knees to wait. Sucre had already stopped running with the warning shot but T-bag wouldn't give up the escape. He went down with a bullet to the head.

He saw Linc hesitate and that couldn't happen. He got caught and would serve out his sentence but Linc would get the chair. "Run!"

And he did. Just like that he had broken his brother out – freed him. He looked over to find Sucre's eyes on him, unmistakably furious. The two of them would be going back, and without a driving mission he was scared in a way he hadn't been before.

He had enemies now, he hadn't worried abou that before because he had figured he would break out or get killed trying. Faced with years of serving time, with enemies everywhere he knew he was in trouble.

"Sucre-"

"Shut the fuck up fish."

"Sucre – I'm sorry – it-"

"You will be fish."

He had fucked up Sucre's life and without being able to offer him an escape route, the other man could only want revenge for him.

The guards were on them quickly and he didn't fight back. His arm was bleeding so they dragged him to the infirmary and his last view of Sucre before a guard's baton knocked him unconscious was of the other man getting the same treatment.

He woke up in the infirmary feeling drowsy. The doctor hovering over him wasn't Sara though and after only a couple seconds he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

The second time he woke up he was much more coherent – enough to feel his arm throbbing and enough to realize that meant they had stopped giving him pain meds.

He looked around and didn't see any doctors but didn't move – he had no doubt the guards were ready to beat him down again at any provocation.

He was quiet for a few minutes and eventually heard voices drifting in the from the other room.

"Is he read to go back?"

"He could use a few more days of observation."

"I saw the wound doc, it barely nicked him."

"I would rather he-"

"Doc. He's fine – you can be coddling these guys. He got a few stitches, big deal, he's a big boy and its not safe to keep him here."

"He's not dangerous."

"He's an escape risk. He's going back."

The heavy footsteps headed towards the room and he quickly acted like he wasn't listening – trying to make himself look harmless. It wouldn't hurt to lull the guards – especially after all the pushing he had done. He didn't need the extra aggravation.

"I know you ain't sleeping, get up. You're going back."

He followed the order quickly, the pain in his arm making him feel a little off balanced. "Where am I heading?" He had guessed that he would be going to segregation or something similar.

"Back to gen pop, in a new cell of course. You got a lot of friends there." The cool sarcasm in the words made Michael's stomach tighten.

"Why?"

Bellick grabbed him roughly and shoved him against the wall, "You questioning me?"

Reminded again that he had no leverage now, no future plan of escape, he backed down quickly, "No."

"That's what I thought."

He tuned out the cheering and catcalls that met him – following the guard to a first level cell, obviously so they could keep a closer eye on him. What really was a shock was that he was directed to a cell with Sucre again.

The other man didn't acknowledge him and he cautiously sat on the bottom bunk as the cell door slid shut.

Sucre watched the guard leave and moved to stand in front of Michael, "I'll be serving my full sentence now fish."

There was something in his words, especially the return of calling him fish, that had him quickly moved to his feet, "You knew the risks-"

"Sit back down."

"No."

"Sit down fish, before I _make_ you sit."

He hesitated a second and then quickly sat back down. A passing guard looked in and Sucre gave him a harmless grin before looking back to Michael, "Later fish. Later."

He stomach flipped a little as he swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth. He didn't think Sucre would kill him, but there was little doubt of the threat in the words – he just didn't know exactly what the other man was gonna do.

He laid back on his bunk, no use worrying over something he couldn't change, as leas until it was time to deal with it. To take his mind off it he concentrated on the ache in his arm. It was only a few stitches, but he got the feeling that was only because the shooter had been a little off.

Normally time moved slow, but it was count before he knew it, the time moving faster when he was dreading what would happen. Whe the lights went out he pushed himself to the back of his cot and pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Fish."

He wrapped his arms around his legs, he wasn't sure what he was doing but he didn't want to leave the relative safety of cowering in his bunk.

Sucre was standing in front of his cot – he could only see his legs. "Fish."

"I tried my best Sucre." His voice wavered a little.

Sucre bent down to look at him, taking a moment to find him scrunched up in the corner of his cot. "Get out here."

He shook his head eyes wide as he met the other man's, "I tried-"

"Yea, your best, I know. Your best wasn't good enough." When he didn't make a move to get up Sucre reached in to grab his good arm, yanking him out.

He had caught Michael's elbow and the resulting force on the movement was enough to make Michael fling forward to sprawl on the floor. He scrambled backwards into the bars.

"Wait – fish – _don't._"

Too late he realized why Sucre tried to stop him as the resulting clang of him hitting the bars drew the attention of the other inmates to them and what was going on in their cell.

Shaking his head Sucre moved towards him, "I didn't want an audience."

"What do you want?"

"I'm not getting out for a long time fish, and I won't send all those years only feeling my right hand."

The reality of what he was saying was almost too much and he choked on a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the situation. "You telling me you're gonna use your left?"

He could swear there was almost regret in Sucre's eyes. "You'll be taking care of it fish, I.. I don't have anything to make it less painful so just suck my cock tonight, got it?"

He was still on the ground and made no attempt to move. "No."

Sucre glanced around a little – a warning in his eyes, "It's going to be one of the other fish – you don't want that pretty doc to know what I'm gonna do to you. Fuck or suck fish."

He surged to his feet, back protectively against the bars. He had said no to T-bag, if he could manage that he should be able to handle his cellmate. "No."

Sucre sighed and grabbed at him, a short tussle that ended with Michael face down on the bed – shocked that it was actually gonna happen. And that it was going to happen painfully.

"Wait – wait! Ok."

There was a hesitation before Sucre answered, his voice heavy, "They heard the choice –they heard your answer – I gotta."

* * *

Two days later he lay on his stomach in a bed in the infirmary. He had needed more stitches in his ass than in his arm. Worse though, Sara had stitched them. She had been working in a prison long enough to recognize the injuries.

She had stopped looking at him with that attraction, the interest replaced with a pitying look.

She had tried to talk to him about it but when the words 'rape victim' came up he had told her to fuck off. Besides, Sucre had told him to tell her he fell. He wasn't sure how a fall would explain his injuries – unless he fell on a pole – but he had done as he was told.

It wasn't too bad though – he hadn't struggled against it. The guards gave him their opinion of it, often and loud, that he had wanted it. He had just ended up meeting it with resignation, complacency. He probably should have fought more.

He just had to find something he could obsess over – he could deal with anything if he had a goal to work towards. He would go back to his cell, do what Sucre told him and think about the day he would get out, all he needed was… an idea.

It was another two days before he was released to go back to his cell. The catcalls were different this time, a cutting edge that had him hunching his shoulders before he even got to his cell. Bellick stopped as the gate swung open turning to sneer at him, "There ya go sweetheart, home sweet home."

He slunk into the cell, instinctively keeping his eyes down as he as he faced Sucre, moving to sit on the bed when he was told to with a wave of the hand. He sat tentatively, still sore, and looked down at his shoes.

"I had to do it." Michael didn't answer, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I mean it Michael and I don't just mean this… the guards offered you up to whoever would make sure you weren't trying to escape. I told you because otherwise it would have been one of them, understand?"

It seemed like something the guards would do and he wasn't naïve enough to point out that didn't mean Sucre _had_ to fuck him. Sucre seemed to be waiting for something and he racked his brain coming up with a shrug as he mumbled, "Thanks."

"What… thanks?" He sounded annoyed, "What did the doc say fish?"

"A few stitches, sore for awhile."

"It didn't have to happen that way but you'll listen better now, won't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now its my ass if you get any ideas about digging a hole again so believe me when I say that you do _not_ want to screw with me on that. Now why don't we do this, get on your knees."

For a moment he looked up, anger burning but he did as he was told and slid from the bed to his knees.

And as for serving out his whole time, there was always another way out and hell… Sucre had to sleep sometime.


End file.
